Control
by I Am Fagin
Summary: She controls the pain, he controls the love, Lestrange controls neither but it is he who keeps them apart. Barty Jr/Bellatrix Dark-ish Bloody. One-shot.
1. Control

The blood poured out of him in rivers of red. In the black of night he could barely see her as she sat before him, an insane, excited smile twisting lips and bringing dark eyes to life as she drove the blade into his arm again. He did not flinch, he did not scream, as waves of crippling pain shot through his nerves to his brain. He didn't tell her to stop, he didn't even want her too. Not because he liked the pain, not at all, it was because she liked it. She liked his pain, she liked his blood so he let her torture him. That's what you do for your love isn't it? Make sacrifices? He withdrew her knife and looked at it, eyes wide and painfully beautiful. She leaned forward slowly, as if awaiting a kiss and licked the blade, her eyes sliding shut in undeniable pleasure. Her tongue swirled about it, just missing cuts on her own flesh, cleaning it and savouring it. Once the blood was gone, she threw her knife aside, deeming it useless and took his blood covered hand in her own. She brought it forward, as if to kiss it but instead she licked it. Her eyes locked on his and she smirked a smirk full of devilish play. She licked her way from his hand to the gash running long and deep in his arm.

Then she bit it.

For the first time he yelped and attempted to wrench his arm away but alas her grip was tight. She looked at him helplessly, innocently as if she was going to cry.  
>"Sorry," he muttered.<br>She grinned. Lips back to the cut, she ran her hot tongue along it and poked at it with her teeth. White, thin, elegant hands went to his thighs, digging into older wounds that were already numb. Blood covered mouth and now hands, she reached out for him. He leaned into her, wanting her in every way. One hand went for his neck, pulling him closer, the other tugging at his hair, unable to love without pain.

His lips found hers.

Hunger and desire filled him as they crushed together, she bit and sucked and bit and sucked. She paused and he dove his tongue into her mouth, tasting his blood. He couldn't help it. Pride filled him that it was him she wanted, his blood, his lips, not her husbands, not anybody else's. His hands grabbed her clothes and pulled her close, needing her with him, touching him. Her hands moved all over him as his did the same. Long nails scrapped down the side of his face, more blood flowing. He gripped her sides tighter.

She pulled away.

She stood and wandered backward, further into her London house garden. He followed unthinkingly. Deeper and deeper she went, darker and darker it got until he couldn't see her at all. He stopped, panicked. Hands found his and pulled him further still.

Then she was gone.

Her footsteps were almost silent, but not quite. He raced after them blindly. A crackling, cackling laugh burst free from her mouth as she danced playfully away from him. He knew she was there, she knew he knew. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to her.

_Crack!_

They were somewhere else. Bathed in moonlight, deep in a forest she began to run again, giggling and cackling joyously, with a severe lack of sanity he would never notice. He chased after her, around trees, over roots and stumps. They stopped at a shallow stream. She looked at him, mischievousness glittering in her dark eyes, the wind blowing her black, untamed hair. He reached out for it and she was gone. He barely hand a second to look around before he was on top of her, lying in the water. Eyes found eyes, hands found hands, lips found lips. She was soft beneath him, soft and warm and wanting.

He was hers.

He was gentle with her. She was rough with him. He tried to keep himself form crushing her, pushing himself up on wounded arms.  
>"Don't bother," she said and he collapsed on her. She stripped him, he stripped her, until they were both freezing, wet and naked. He slid into her and stroked her. Her back arched. She bit his neck. He loved her, she loved him. They both found release in each other. He gave himself to her, she gave herself to him. But she wasn't.<p>

She was _Lestrange's._

He could never forget that as she had, even as they lay together, blissfully happy, the pain was there, crippling like her knife and teeth could never be. _He_ had had her first, _he_ had loved her first, though she never wanted it, _he_ married her. She had two hearts to look after, yet she tore and ripped and killed both. _He_ thought he owned her, but _he_ didn't, nobody did. But her heart was his, forever and ever.

_Crack!_

"Bella!" It was Lestrange, looking for his wife.  
>Barty pulled himself from her and started to dress. She stood and stopped his hands with her own, stopping protests forming on his lips with her own.<br>"Don't leave," she muttered against his lips in between kisses. "Never leave me."  
>He sighed and gave up trying, putting his arms around her, how could he argue with such orders? "My blood will be on your hands."<br>She laughed and brought up her hands between them. They were covered in dried blood. She gripped his hair again and he was in her control all over again.  
>He never heard the cry of Lestrange's spell, but it hit him squarely in the back and he collapsed.<p>

"No!"

She screamed as he pulled her away angrily. They pierced him like no spell or knife ever could. She fought and she fought but physically she was no match for her husband. She screamed for him again. He lay there unable to move, thoughts still swirling of her.

She controlled the pain, he controlled the love and _he_ controlled neither but still it was _he _who kept them apart.

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><p><strong>Please, please, please can I have some reviews? I've had quite a few hits but no reviews, which makes me doubt whether it's good or not.<strong>


	2. AN

Just a quick thing to say that Control now has a sequel, named Chaos, that you can find on the stories section of my profile page.


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